I Wanna Testify
by xeyes
Summary: In which the author attempts to augment the small number of endings in SH4...with assistance. Some humor, some angst, and a touch of nonexplicit slashiness in the last chapter...hence the M.
1. Mothership Connection

**A/N: One of the most frequent complaints about Silent Hill 4 is that it has no joke ending. Herein, two, plus a third non-joke ending, straight from the horse's mouth. OK, well, to be fair, the last two aren't technically new endings as much as they are additions to the story. But the first is...  
**

**Chapter and story titles are all Parliament/Funkadelic song titles. No money made, no infringement intended, etc. You know the drill by now.  
**

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* * *

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The author was sitting on the couch, laptop on lap, working on polishing "More Than This" for the umpteenth time when…

**_poke_**

Huh? What?

_Haven't you finished that yet?_

Oh, hi. No, not yet. It's a monster. It developed a life of its own. I'm half expecting it to crush my car and eat Manhattan.

_You really should, you know. You've already started on a sequel. You can't do that until you've finished._

I know…but that story is stuck in plot-block purgatory for now. So the argument is moot.

_And you've got all this other stuff backed up behind it._

Yeah. That's your fault. You're inspiring. All sorts of things are coming to mind.

_As long as you don't drag me through all that stuff from "Washing of the Water" again …what the hell…_

Hey. You asked for that. Ask and ye shall receive.

…

Oops. Bad turn of phrase. Sorry.

_Yeah, not good. But yes, I did ask for that… Anyway, speaking of plots…_

This doesn't sound good.

…_I have a bone to pick with Murakoshi. Man made me sound like I'd just crawled out from under a rock. I don't say "what the hell" every time something weird happens, you know._

I know. I'm sorry about that.

_Not your fault. I got him back a little anyway…the whole "urinating off a pole" thing was my idea. Helps to have an old college buddy working in radio._

This really doesn't sound good.

_Problem is, he stuck me in these four ridiculous endings. Like any of them could have ever seriously happened. _

…I didn't think they were that preposterous…

_Well, given all the stuff that they left out, nothing would have seemed too ridiculous. _

So, what really happened? How did you get out of there?

_I'm glad you asked…_

Uh-oh.

* * *

Henry slammed the metal doors shut and leaned against them, catching his breath. 

_What in the name of God was that? _

He'd been saying that a lot lately. Never really got a good answer, though.

_That's what happens when you have to shoot first and ask questions later…the questions never really get asked._

He scanned the floor, and saw a number of those dark needlenose bird things laying on the floor, flapping their wings.

_Aaand once again, it's time to play Whack-A-Bat…and now, today's first contestant. From the sixty-fifth circle of Hell, otherwise known as Room 302, let's welcome Henry Townshend!_

Cheesy old game shows had freaked him out ever since he's played "Twisted" on his old 3DO. Still, better to be scarred for life by a game, right? Much less personal.

_Damn. Shoulda scavenged anything good from the game nut's room back at the apartment while I had the chance. Months worth of stuff there. If I get out of this._

So, one vigorous and productive round of Whack-A-Bat later, he poked his head through one of the doors leading off of the tiled room.

_Looks kinda like a hospital. Like St. Jerome's, actually…at least, how it looked back when Mom used to take me there for my flu shots._

Exploration of the floor and several more swings of his axe netted him an ampoule, a nutrition drink, a first-aid kit, a paper-cutting knife (useless, of course), a handy Hole and the knowledge that Eileen was here, all right. Alive, or she wouldn't have come here in the first place. And, in one of the rooms…upstairs?

After finding out that not only had the staff lost Eileen's room key, but they'd also dropped her bag in the hallway, Henry made a mental note to patronize Ashfield General Hospital whenever possible instead.

And up the stairs he went.

He faced a long, long hallway, with unmarked doors down each side. A few rusted wheelchairs patrolled the hallway, threatening to kneecap him. He dodged them and tried the last door on his left.

_Unmarked…no wonder that nurse didn't want to have to find the key. Aren't there licensing standards for places like this? And wouldn't they include numbers on the doors?_

A bloody body lay on a bed with some of those tall 'shrooms growing out of it.

_Lucky Jeff's not here, or he'd eat these just to see what would happen. Doofus._

A few whacks with the axe took care of them, and Henry looked down at the body, abandoned on its bed. It looked as though it had been there for days…as did the rest of the blood and dirt in the room.

_Definitely Ashfield General from now on._

At least he was getting accustomed to the smell.

Something glittered in the body's hand. Henry used the handle of the axe to pry the hand open, and whatever-it-was fell to the floor with a crash. Henry bent to pick it up.

_Some sort of jewel, or gem. Blue. Amazing that nobody stole it or lost it. Ah well, he doesn't need it any more._

Henry pocketed the thing and headed out the door. He shot across the hall and slammed into the door across the way.

_Locked. With my luck, it's the only one, and probably the one that I really need to get into. Figures._

He continued down the hallway.

* * *

Some time later, he and Eileen ran as fast as they could down the path toward the old orphanage. Which meant, of course, that Henry ran to the gate, then waited and swatted at demon dogs as Eileen hobbled as quickly as possible. 

"Henryyyyy…you're going too faaaast," she whined as she limped along.

He gritted his teeth and brought his torch down onto another pink hound's mangy back. It screamed as the flames singed off what little hair it had left, and the smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils Finally, she was there, and they both squeezed through the gate.

Henry made his way to the burned-out building. A note lay on the ground.

_Something's here but nothing's here. Doesn't make sense, but there you are. I feel something from the stone…something's buzzing…what's that flying over…It's a bird…no, it's a plane…no, it's…Aaaaaaaahhhh! It has begun! _

"Oookay," Henry said to himself. "Why'd he bother to write 'Aaaaaaahhhh!' anyway?"

He pocketed the Holy Candle that sat untouched on the burned-out foundation, and peered at the life-size charred torso in the wheelchair. It seemed to be missing its head, so he fastened on the wooden head in his pocket and read the attached note.

_Though my body be destroyed, I will not let you pass here. Neener neener neener._

_Anyhoo, to prepare for the Receiver of Wisdom…I cut my body into five pieces and hid them in the darkness. When my body is again whole, the path to below will be opened. If you are the Receiver of Wisdom (that means you, Henry), you will understand my words. _

_Everybody else can squeeze my left nut._

_The ritual has begun…_

Henry did the math. Two arms, two legs missing…

_Oh man. One more. Don't tell me he was serious about that left nut business…_

Then, he remembered that he'd just added the head, which made a total of five. Thank God.

Eileen was just hauling herself up to him. "What'd I miss?"

"Can you stay here for a few minutes? I have to find the rest of this thing's limbs. Just sit tight. Read the stones or something, they might be helpful. I'll be right back."

"Henryyyy…I can't stay here by myself…I'll be cursed, I know it…Henryyyy…don't leave me alone…"

But he was already gone.

Twenty minutes and a whole lot of monster-related nastiness later, Henry popped the last arm onto the figure in the wheelchair. It lifted its head, opened its mouth, and rolled back and forth for a little bit before falling off of the side of the foundation. The figure collapsed out of its chair, and lay there motionless.

Two handles flanked the opening of a trapdoor. Little red letters were written on it.

"Eileen, can you read these?" Henry asked.

She peered at the writing.

"Yeah. It says, 'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.' How cliché."

He hauled the doors up, revealing a small staircase below. As he was about to take his first step down, he felt a buzzing in his pocket.

_Dammit, Josh, I don't have another twenty bucks for you right now. Get a job. Deadbeat._

_Waitaminute…I don't have a cell phone…_

His hand found the source of the buzzing, and he pulled the blue jewel from the hospital from his pocket. It was flashing blue and white, and warmed his hand as it lay in his palm.

He turned it over. On the silver metal backing was a bail for hanging, and a small inscription.

"Eileen…"

"Yeah, read this, I hear you," she said. "Hmmm…oh_…oh my_…uh, where did you get this again?"

"In the hospital, right before I found you. Why?"

"Uh..."

"Eileen, please. Just tell me."

"Henry, this says 'my left nut' on it."

"Figures."

Just then, a humming sound came from overhead, growing louder. Henry readied his axe in case a Super Ginormous Brain-Sucking Bat or something was on the way, but after a moment he realized that whatever was making the sound wasn't nearby.

"Check it out," Eileen said, pointing overhead.

Flying over them was a single small light. Henry squinted.

_A round, white disc with a lump on top. Looks like…_

"A UFO?" Eileen asked.

Henry shook his head. "Nah. Too weird."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Too weird for this place?"

Henry thought back to the lighthouse in Silent Hill, and the rumors he'd heard…

"…you're right. Never mind. Let's get out of here."

* * *

To Henry's great relief, he'd managed to drop off Eileen in one of the cells on the third floor of the cylindrical prison. Having to wait for her butt to catch up was almost getting him killed. Hell, Walter had almost plugged him point-blank as soon as they got out of the elevator that had brought them there, because Eileen couldn't get down the little stairs fast enough. 

"Sorry, gotta get to the basement. It's the only way," he said, shrugging.

"But Henryyyy…it's so damp and gross here…"

And down the hole he went without a second thought.

Back in the basement, he was relieved to find only armies of zombie mushrooms. He readied his axe, swung it in a circle, and let it carry him round and round as he cut through them all like a dervish. The ensuing dizziness was a small price to pay.

Upstairs in the guards' rooms, the wheels that turned the floors were rusted into place. So, nothing doing there. Still, he found a little leather nightstick that Eileen should be able to handle, even with one hand and a bum leg.

_At least she's good at swatting at things. Not completely useless. Annoying, though._

Some time later, he had cleaned out the first and second floors, and was on his way back up to collect Eileen when he remembered the sluice gates on the roof.

_May as well check to see if anything's going on up there. _

No, the roof seemed pretty deserted. Water was still flowing from an unknown source through the open gates. Walter was presumably running up and down the spiral stairs shooting at bats, or something. Henry leaned back against the wall by the door and took a personal minute.

_I am SO getting a case or two of Sam Adams when this is all done. And getting the hell out of South Ashfield Heights. And if Sunderland says a single word about me breaking my lease, I'll show him just where he can stuff it…and give him the choice of steel pipe, broken wine bottle, paper knife or pickaxe to do it with._

…and there was that damn buzzing again. As he reached into his pocket, Henry remembered Eileen's translation of the inscription on the blue gem.

_I hope to God that I'm the only guy on Earth running around with three._

The gem pulsated as it buzzed in his hand. Then, he remembered what had happened the last time it had done its thing. He briefly considered running back to the door in the middle of the pool of water, but realized that if it had become locked, he'd be a sitting duck. He shrank back against the wall and waited.

Three of the round white objects flew over the tower. They paused directly over his head, and Henry realized that he was being watched. It creeped him out thoroughly. Just as his skin was preparing to crawl off of him, the objects flew off.

_This is getting worse._

Henry opened the double doors and crawled back down the ladder to fetch Eileen.

* * *

Eileen had, actually, proved moderately useful with the nightstick. As the two of them ran down the nearly endless square staircase, she held her own against the needlenose bats, and Henry got away with only a couple of nicks and scrapes. 

_Thank God she didn't have one of her insane gobbledy-gook spouting fits on the way down_, he thought, _or I'd have had to drag her along with me all the way_.

He went to the door at the bottom and pocketed the first-aid kit that lay by the door.

_Hmmm…this doesn't bode well for whatever's on the other side._

He chugged a nutrition drink (_PowerFudge SuperQuick. Tastes like sludge, but does the trick_, which was truth in advertising if ever he'd seen it) and leaned casually on his axe as Eileen hobbled over to him.

"Nice job," he said.

"Thanks," she smiled. She swung the nightstick from its strap. "Just wait until old man Sunderland gets within range of this. None of this was in _my_ lease agreement…how about yours?"

"Nope. Suppose it wouldn't look good in the ad in the paper. 'One-bedroom, one-bath apartment, furnished. Amenities include washer and dryer, refrigerator, and fully integrated hauntings with alternate dimensions, hellbeasts and chainsaw-wielding madmen. Rates reasonable.' "

She looked at him oddly. "One bedroom? I have two…maybe yours are larger."

"Now that you mention it…everybody else's places looked bigger than mine. That's weird…"

Before he could think on that further, a familiar buzzing erupted from his pocket. This time, the buzzing was louder, more insistent, as if the gem was trying to communicate something. On its back, the words had changed to something readable.

_Dead yet?_

Henry grimaced.

_Oh great…it's obnoxious **and** stupid. Just what we need…a smartass._

And there was the noise again. It echoed down the tall stairwell. They could just barely see what seemed to be a fleet of the round things hovering way at the top.

"Let's get outta here," Henry said. He pocketed the gem and opened the door.

The room beyond was almost engulfed by a deep, rectangular pit. Strange music played, and the walls were hung with cloth. A door like the one they'd just passed through was visible on the other side.

_That would be too easy, but I've gotta try._

As Henry started toward the door, an enormous golden figure slid down the wall on a frame, reached out a long arm toward him and smacked him hard. As he flew ass-over-teakettle through the air, he saw more of them slide down the walls, all around the room.

_Oh…man…I hate – WHUMP! -- being right sometimes._

He picked himself up and dusted himself off, and started swinging his axe at the nearest one. It jerked, but did not die. Eileen started in on it with her nightstick, but even the two of them couldn't kill the thing. As the rest of the wall people swung at them, the one they were working on slid back up the wall with a groan.

_Something's wrong here…_

_Wait…what was that in that note? Something about the One Truth? A single Truth…and there are what, a dozen of these things?_

_Maybe I'm hitting the wrong one._

"Let's try the next one!" Henry yelled above the din. He pulled his axe back as the one on his right slid back up the wall, and walked over to it, readying his swing. After several seconds, it slid back down the wall, and Henry let fly.

The others kept swatting at him.

"Next one," he yelled. Eileen nodded.

The third time was the charm. As the thing slid back down the wall, Henry let fly again, and all of the wall men jerked in pain. Eileen's nightstick connected with it, and the same thing happened.

"This is it! Keep going!" he cried. The axe swung back and forth, and the nightstick smacked hard. After what seemed like forever, the figure gave a final spasm and collapsed. All of the men slid back up the wall, and they heard the click of a lock.

Eileen was panting for breath.

"What was that?" she asked.

"If I'm not mistaken, that was the One Truth," Henry replied, leaning on his axe to catch his breath. "Just like Joseph said."

"So…now what?"

_Good question._

Then, Henry heard that humming noise again.

…_and I think we're about to find out._

Rising through the rectangular hole in the floor was an enormous object. Looked just like the ones that they'd seen overhead, but up close it was…well, it looked like those old spaceships that he'd seen on "Twilight Zone" episodes way back when. Or like the ship from "The Day the Earth Stood Still." Or like the P-Funk Mothership.

_The perfect ending to the perfect day. Being kidnapped by the clones of Dr. Funkenstein._

The ship hovered over the hole, rocking gently side to side. A door slid open on one side. Henry half expected to hear "Doo-DOO-doo, doo, doooooo…." play, but instead the only sound was the hum of the ship's engines.

A walkway slid out smoothly from under the doorway.

_Ba-BAAAA!_ Horns blew, as if announcing something. Nothing happened for a long moment. Then, a small figure appeared silhouetted in the doorway. It paused, then started down the walkway.

_Grays? How predictable._

Then, a second figure appeared. Human! As it followed the alien, Henry saw that it was a teenage girl, in a miniskirt, vest and boots, with messy blonde hair and freckles. She was followed by a dark-haired man with a brown jacket and dark pants, then by a taller, blond man in a military jacket and jeans.

Eileen grabbed his arm as they watched the figures approach. "Henry…"

"I know," he said. "This was the last thing I was expecting."

"No, that's not it," Eileen said. "Look at the last guy. Doesn't he look kinda familiar?"

Henry peered. Something about the man's face, his carriage…but he couldn't place it…

The girl stopped in front of them. She smiled at them.

_Seems human enough._

"Hi, guys," she said, holding out her hand. "Name's Cheryl Mason. Pleased to meet you."

"Uh…hi. I'm Henry, Henry Townshend, and this is Eileen Galvin."

"This is my dad, Harry Mason, and our friend James Sunderland."

"Sunderland?" Eileen asked. "Wait…are you…"

James nodded. "Yeah. Frank's my father. I really should apologize for all that you've had to go through because of that damn apartment…"

Henry found himself saying, "Hey, it's not your fault…is it?"

Harry Mason laughed. "No, it's not his fault. Actually, that's why we're here." His voice was strange somehow. And, now that Henry thought about it, he was weirdly…well, there was no way around it. Harry Mason was really, really…pointy-looking.

"We've been watching you," Cheryl said. "We've seen everything that you've been through. And we're here to do something about it."

Henry's mouth opened, then he closed it as he realized that he didn't know where to start.

"Long story short, we're on our way to blast the living crap out of what remains of that damn cult. We'd like you to join us."

"You…are?" was all that Henry could manage.

"As she said," James continued, "long story short. We'll catch you up on the way. Our friends here," he said, indicating the alien that stood beside them with a wide grin, "can get us these very fast, but we'll take our time. No rush."

The alien gave them a double thumbs-up.

"No rush?" Henry spluttered. "We've been spending the last several hours trying to get the hell out of whatever nightmare this is. We've nearly gotten killed more times than I can count, Eileen here is starting to spaz out big-time -- "

"Hey!"

"Sorry – and Walter's going to show up any minute now with his damn chainsaw and slice us in half unless we get moving. No rush?"

"I'm sorry about that, Henry," Harry said. "If we hadn't been in such a hurry last time, we'd have finished the job. But he wasn't around there, and we didn't know about the mummified corpse in your apartment until just recently…"

"The _WHAT_?"

"Look who's spazzing now," Eileen muttered.

"Why don't you two come on inside? We'll explain everything," Cheryl said. "We can patch you up as good as new. And these aliens make the best double-chocolate fudge that I've ever had."

"…Did you say, fudge?" Eileen asked.

"Double chocolate. With chips." Cheryl grinned.

Eileen shrugged. "Why not, Henry. Beats this place."

Henry looked at her. Her skin was crawling with reddish swirls…and he could still taste the remnants of the nutrition drink in his mouth. It didn't improve with age.

"Sure. I could use a few answers. Just promise me one thing…"

"What's that?" James asked.

"Tell me that we're going to take Walter out of the picture completely. Blow his undead butt to Kingdom Come and beyond."

James grinned. The alien next to him whispered something to him.

"He says they'll even let you push the button."

* * *

Oh…my…God. 

_What do you think?_

Are you trying to tell me that that's what actually happened?

_Yep._

You have got to be joking.

_The fudge was quite good._

I'll bet it was.

_What's that supposed to mean?_

I don't know. I just get this feeling that you're pulling my leg.

_Yeah. Yeah, I am. Gotcha._

Asshole.

_Still, it's a lot closer to the truth than anything that actually ended up in the game._

That bad, huh?

_Eileen's not really that whiny, actually. She's very nice. Just having a really bad day._

Makes sense.

_The nutrition drinks do taste like toxic waste, though._

I'll take your word for it.


	2. Who Says a Funk Band Can

_**A/N: That's supposed to be "Who Says a Funk Band Can't Play Rock?"

* * *

**  
_

_I bet you want to know what really happened._

Sure. No fooling this time?

_See what you think._

**That's what could have happened. But how about this?

* * *

**

It was his apartment...but something was different...

Yeah, the red, pulsating walls on either side of stretches of chain-link flooring covered more or less by squishy blood-soaked carpet. With added dead-hellhound decoration. Yeah. That was it. Old Frank had terrible taste in wallpaper, but even he wouldn't have looked kindly upon the new decor.

What wasn't new was that most of the doors were locked. People in South Ashfield Heights tended to keep to themselves, so it wasn't surprising that very few doors opened. The only one that had, in fact, was 301...which, in retrospect, was the one door which Henry really didn't think should be unlocked.

_Given his hobbies,_ Henry thought. _You'd think he'd want to make sure that nobody walked in on him while he was...ah, well, whatever._

Henry jingled the ring of keys in his hand. He was two floors down from the guy's room now, standing outside 102. A dead dog lay at his feet, and his other hand tightened its grip on the axe as he slid the key into the lock and turned the knob.

He needn't have worried. A low slurping sound from inside the door was all that greeted him. Sure enough, the apartment was empty except for ten or so red slug-things wending their slimy way around the kitchen floor, and a tremendous odor that seemed to be coming from the refrigerator. It assaulted his eyes and filled his nose, and he clamped his lips more tightly together to keep from breathing in any more than was absolutely necessary.

_I'll never get the smell out of my clothes...I thought cigarette smoke was bad, but this is forever. Well, these boots are shot anyway...slug guts and blood all over 'em…_

**squish squish squish squish squish squish squish squish squish squish**

With some trepidation, he pulled the fridge open. Inside lay what appeared to be a pair of ripped-up jeans, soaked in blood. A small furry foot poked out of one side.

_God...it's a cat. Wait...this is the cat lady's apartment. Did she..._

Henry reached in and gently lifted up one leg of the jeans. Not that he doubted that the cat had been there for a while...but...well, he didn't really know why. Resting over the cat's misshapen head was a torn piece of red paper, like the others that he'd found already. He pocketed it and turned to leave the room.

Something glinted, off to the side. On the kitchen counter lay a small metallic object. A gun. But not just any gun. A submachine gun.

_Hell yeah!_

Henry grinned widely as he hooked the small and delicate-looking weapon with a finger and lifted it into the air. It was so lightweight...almost like a toy, or an old-fashioned ladies' pistol.

_Beats the old pistol any time. That is, if I can find ammo for it...this thing probably goes through its little bullets like the woman in 204 goes through blinis._

_That's not nice_, said Henry's conscience.

_Too tired to care,_ said Henry's brain.

He hooked the axe through his belt and took the gun in his hand. It was definitely a one-handed weapon, too small to handle with two hands. His own large hand was loose around the grip, and his finger barely fit on the trigger.

Back out in the hallway, he decided to try out his new toy on yet another demon dog meandering around the door to 101. He stood back, lifted the gun, and pulled the trigger.

...and nothing happened.

He tried again. And again. No, it wasn't out of ammo...

_Crap. Ol' reliable, then._

A few axe swipes took care of the immediate problem, and he entered 101.

_The gun nut's room. I should have remembered. He should have some decent weaponry._

As it turned out, Henry had no such luck. All of the guns were just wooden models, fakes. Useless except for playing around. There was nothing except a solitary pack of pistol bullets sitting on the counter, mocking him, as if saying _Here's all you get, loser._

_Man, this is just stupid. This whole place...it's like some depressing chronicle of frustations and uselessness._

Henry was about to drop the little submachine gun on the counter next to its equally useless brethren, but something stopped him. With a shrug, he pocketed the gun and left the room.

* * *

He couldn't get the thought out of his head. 

_Eileen's dead. She has to be. He carved her up...I couldn't save her. I was too late._

He didn't know why that was bothering him so much. Well, he did...the blood and gore and horrible deaths that he'd seen that afternoon had numbed him and dulled his senses, but hadn't removed his humanity entirely. This was Eileen, his neighbor, who he'd seen reading a book and doing her nails and talking on the phone.

Henry turned the doorknob absently.

_What did she ever do to deserve this?_

The squeak of the door hinges brought him back somewhat.

_Concentrate, Henry, or you're going to get yourself killed..._

Fortunately, the only resistance he'd run into so far had been a pack of sleepy bat-things in the hallway, which were smacked and stomped into submission easily...but he probably wouldn't be so lucky forever. The door closed behind him, and he turned automatically to the white glow on his left. A lightboard, with X-rays and notes on it...and a Polaroid picture.

_Eileen_...

He leaned against the board, and his head fell back. She was there, in the hospital. Which meant she might still be alive...

The nurse's note on the desk confirmed it, and he walked back into the hallway with a new sense of purpose. He had to find her.

Her bag lay abandoned on the floor. Purple and shiny, to match her dress. It was almost weightless in his hand.

_Funny...I haven't touched a handbag since I was a little kid helping Mom get ready to go to work...such a little thing…_

She had to be there. He knew it.

* * *

But she wasn't easy to find. Not with possessed ghost wheelchairs kneecapping him at every turn and rooms full of smelly...God knows what. And the occasional seven-foot-tall Amazon with a pipe, or a dead body with zombie 'shrooms growing out of it... 

At least he'd found the missing key. Just not the room to go with it.

The last two rooms lay in front of him, at the far end of the hallway. As the wheelchairs closed in on him again, he turned the knob of one door. And turned it again. The door wouldn't open.

He yanked at the knob in frustration. Then, he remembered the key. It turned smoothly in the lock. He flung himself into the room, heedless of whatever might be lurking inside.

Fortunately for him, the room's sole occupant was flat on her back, unconscious. She was still in her party dress, ankle wrapped above those silly heels (_how do women walk in those things?_), with one arm in a cast and sling.

Henry crept over to the bed and was about to wake her when she sat up, screaming...

After the explanations were done, she looked around the little room.

"What kind of screwed-up hospital is this, anyway?" she asked him.

"St. Jerome's, I think," Henry replied. "Things look weird in this world, though."

She eyed the axe hanging from his hand warily.

"Know how to use that thing?"

Henry shrugged. "I do now," he said.

"Got anything for me?"

"No, not really. Just this," he said, swinging her bag from his finger.

She took it from his hand and looked at it as if she'd never seen it before. "Where did you find this?"

"Downstairs."

She swatted at the wall with it. It hit with a solid _thump_.

"That'll have to do for now," she said. "Kinda useless, though, unless there's a deadly moth around here or something."

Henry smiled. "I'll let you try your hand at the bats, if you're up to it."

"Bats?"

"Bats. Anyway, it's not the most useless thing I've found. I've got a submachine gun that won't fire."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Can I try?"

Henry hooked it out of his pocket and tossed it to her. "Knock yourself out. Just don't point it at me, please."

She made a face at him. Her hand gripped the gun firmly, pointed it at a bottle on the cart by the bed, and pulled the trigger.

The noise was deafening in the tiny room. Henry winced and put his hands over his ears as Eileen shot the bottle to bits in a wet, exploding mess.

"Hell yeah," she smiled. "That was fun."

"Don't waste the ammo," Henry replied. "I don't know if we'll find any more."

* * *

As it turned out, Eileen took readily to guns. Very readily. So readily, in fact, that Henry was able to let her do a lot of the heavy killing while he figured out where they needed to go. 

He found it particularly entertaining to watch her as she slaughtered things mercilessly. When she'd see, say, a demon dog, an evil smile would creep across her face and she'd _stalk_ it – as best she could, anyway. Then, just before it turned to attack, she'd pull the trigger. She'd gotten pretty good already at making things dance in the air before they dropped dead. It reminded him of when he was a kid, watching the cat stalk a bird in the back yard…if Eileen had had a tail, he thought, it would have been twitching wildly.

And they had only gotten partway through the subway station again.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Henry asked her as she stood triumphantly over the latest bleeding corpse. They were up at the turnstiles again, on their way to the King Street trains.

"What?"

"The gun. Doesn't it make your arm sore, or something?"

"Kinda," she said. "I'm getting the feeling that this isn't really the best thing for me to be doing right now. But it's just too much damn fun."

"Well, be careful," he said. "Don't want you getting any worse."

"Thanks," she said, smiling.

They approached the escalator down. Henry had done his best to get past the weird wall-men on his way up a few minutes before, with just this moment in mind.

"Get that thing ready," he said as they stepped onto the escalator. "You're going to have plenty of use for it…"

The first wall-man emerged, and the evil smile did as well. Henry crouched down and covered his ears with his hands as the shots flew and the blood spattered and the escalator carried them down…down…down…

In the King Street train, he'd found a golf club before. This time, a wrapped present lay on the seat, partly torn open. There was a note on the package.

_Have fun! For us girls only…sorry, Henry. _

_C._

"What's this?" Eileen asked. Her hand slipped into the long, flat box, and came out with…

"A shotgun. Nice," Henry said.

"May I?"

Henry shrugged. "Given what I just witnessed on that escalator, it's yours if you want it."

* * *

Amazing, how these guns of hers never ran out of ammo, Henry thought. 

He was concerned about her, though. The red marks on her body were changing and growing darker, and her eyes were growing wilder. Or perhaps that was the effect of her newly-discovered love of splattering undead hell-beasts all over the surroundings.

"Eileen, why don't you sit down for a minute," he said, slamming the gate to Wish House behind them. "Take a rest. I have to go back to my place for a few things anyway. Here, hang on to this torch for me."

Eileen nodded. "I don't think that he'll be coming in here. I may just do that. Hurry back, OK?"

"Don't worry. I will."

However, the presence of ghosts coming out of the walls of his apartment slowed things down a bit. By the time that Henry dealt with the issue and got back, it had been a few minutes. He still hadn't bothered to work out how time passed in the other world when he wasn't there, so he didn't know if it had been minutes or hours.

Eileen was still sitting on the steps of Wish House, smoke rising from around her. But that evil grin was back, there was more blood on her dress, and in her hand was…

"What…the hell…is _that_?" Henry asked.

"This, Henry," she smiled, "is a chainsaw. Found it by a stump up thataway," and she motioned to the main gates. "Along with a couple of doll parts that you might find handy."

Henry sat down next to her on the steps. Her green eyes danced with glee.

"You really should have been resting," he said.

"I did," she replied. "For a while. You still hadn't gotten back, so I figured that I'd see what I could do to help. Met some skinny flaming guy…"

"Jasper. So that's what happened to him."

"Another of Walter's…"

"Yeah."

"And a couple of others. Not too bad with good preparation. You know, I love my shotgun," she smiled.

"You're starting to scare me."

"Well, stay out of my way, Henry, and I'll try not to hurt you," she grinned. "You know I wouldn't, though. Right?"

"Thanks. Actually, it's you I'm worried about," he said, standing up. He walked to the burnt torso in the wheelchair.

"Why?"

"Toss me those doll parts, wouldya?"

As Eileen picked them up, a piece of paper fell to the ground.

"Oh yeah," she said. "This note was with it."

_Good luck. This thing's slow, but effective. No gasoline required. Be careful._

_H._

"Trust me. It is," Eileen said.

"Oh, I believe you," Henry said, as he fitted the doll's leg to its body.

Eileen started to struggle to her feet. Henry helped her up, and they stood side by side in front of the doll. Its head lolled forward, and it seemed more grotesque with one arm and one leg than it had with no limbs at all.

"Ugly," she said.

"Yeah."

"You never answered my question."

"All the work you're doing can't be good for you," he said. He pointed to a red patch on her skin where the shotgun had left a mark. "That's going to be a nasty bruise tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is why it's there. I want to do what little I can to make sure that we get to tomorrow to see it."

Henry nodded. "Thanks."

* * *

When they exited the small circular room on top of the water prison, there was Walter with his smile and his gun. Henry heard the engine of the chainsaw start, and the look of surprise in Walter's eyes was the funniest thing he'd seen all day. 

Still, given the slow speed of the chainsaw and the recoil of the shotgun, it seemed best that Henry make his rounds by himself while Eileen rested.

Still, some combat was unavoidable as they made their way around the third floor. He left her in the one-o'clock room happily babbling about old Romero movies as he dropped back down to the basement.

Up on the third floor observation room, he found a beautifully crafted hunting rifle laying on the floor. Henry hadn't known a thing about guns until that morning, but he could feel the fine wood and see the craftsmanship that indicated a well-made weapon. Alas, even before he picked it up, he knew that it wasn't for him by the note tied to the barrel.

_Useful for distance shooting…even I had some luck with this. And I can't shoot worth a damn._

_J_.

_Some people have all the luck_, Henry thought. _Well, at least she'll enjoy this one, and maybe it won't injure her as much as the shotgun or chainsaw._

When he finally went back up to the third floor to collect her, he saw just how big a difference that was likely to make. Eileen's back was swirling with black marks now as well as the red ones. Her hands were twitching, and her hair was disheveled. She didn't seem to hear him enter the room until he shut the door after him.

"Henry," she said, turning to him. "I…I'm getting worse."

"I know," Henry said softly. "Is there anything I can do?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so," she replied. "I'm going to fight it as much as I can, but…well, I'm sorry for anything stupid I might do."

Henry handed her the rifle.

"Wow," she said. "This is gorgeous."

"Maybe it'll be safer to use, too."

"Henry," she said, looking at him. "You trust me with this. Why?"

"I just do."

"Thanks. If I get really bad…"

"I'll take it from you."

"Thank you, Henry."

"Ready to try it out?"

"Yeah."

The look on Andrew's face as Eileen took him down was one that Henry hoped he'd never see again.

* * *

Yes, the rifle had been better for Eileen. And more effective on the ghosts. Henry had been able to pin Andrew faster than he'd thought possible, and the squad of double-headed monsters between them and the exit door only gave them minor trouble. 

Eileen's pace down the spiral stairs was slower than before. Henry waited for her to catch up to him at the bottom. He reached for her hand and took the rifle.

"That bad, huh?" she asked, not meeting his eye.

"This way you don't have to carry it. Don't worry, I'll give it back when you need to use it."

"Right."

_Damn, she saw right through that one._

Henry smiled. "Seriously, I will. You're too good with this."

"What makes you think I won't turn around and shoot you instead?"

"That's a chance I have to take."

Five seconds later, Henry was as good as his word. Richard floated down to meet them, and Henry fumbled in his pockets for his last silver bullet. Then he remembered…it was back in the chest in his room. A handy hole beckoned, but he couldn't leave Eileen there alone with Richard and his pipe.

So, he tossed the rifle to Eileen and readied his axe. As he wound up his swing, he heard the BAM of the first shot. Then, a second later, another…and another. Richard roared and dropped like a rock.

Henry stood for a moment, slack-jawed. Then, he ran forward, pulled out a sword, and leaned on it with all his might. Richard squirmed in frustration, but he was clearly down for good.

"Nice shooting, Tex," he smiled.

Eileen grinned widely for a moment. Then her grin twisted sideways. Henry caught the rifle as it dropped from her hands, and was nearly knocked off of his feet by the sudden pain in his head. She stood there, shaking, spouting gibberish in an unearthly voice.

_Oh my God. So this is what she really meant by being cursed. Damn you, Sullivan…_

After a while, the gibberish ceased, and Eileen looked around, dazed.

"What…what just happened?" she asked.

"I don't know," Henry replied. "I think…I think you lost it, Eileen."

She nodded. "That's what I was afraid of. Henry…" Her hand reached for his.

He took the hand and squeezed it. It was cold.

"It's OK. We're going to get out of this."

* * *

Henry did everything he could think of to protect her from that point on. He left her in an elevator while he ran down to the Southfield, and he took her upstairs to the sporting-goods store to stay safe while he figured out how he was going to get her down to the bar. 

"Henry, please," she said when he returned from his room. "I'm OK, I really am."

"No, you're not," he said. "All of this fighting is taking it out of you."

"Well, being left her by myself isn't doing any good either," she said. "At least when I'm with you, I can help."

"Eileen…"

"Well, let me put it this way," she replied. "I'm coming along, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"I could leave you at the bottom of a ladder…"

"Very funny."

"Fine, be that way," he said, handing her the rifle. "Make yourself useful."

She smiled. "Thanks."

Fortunately, their only resistance on the way upstairs came in the form of slugs and dogs, both of which presented little resistance to Henry's axe and Eileen's rifle.

"Eeewwww," she said as Henry put the boot in another slug.

"Squeamish?"

"No, just…gross. Fascinating, but gross."

"Wanna try?"

Eileen raised an eyebrow, then grinned. "Sure."

Henry knocked a big one off of the pulsating wall, and stepped back. Eileen lifted her foot, hesitated a moment, then slammed it down into the slug with a _splat_.

"Hee," she said. "That was nasty. Now I've got slug guts in my shoe."

"Fun?"

"Hell yeah. You sure know how to show a girl a good time."

Henry laughed. "Not an ideal first date."

"That's OK. You can make up for it later."

When they reached Eric's apartment, Eileen went to the sink and rinsed out her shoe as Henry put the cake candles on the birthday cake one by one and Eric gurgled on the floor.

"Hmmm," he said.

"What?" Eileen asked, as she dried off her shoe with a towel.

"This box."

"Looks like an ordinary bakery box."

"Kinda big for a round birthday cake."

"Now that you mention it…it is," she said, buckling the strap on her shoe around her ankle.

Henry peered at the top. "Helen's Bakery," he read. "Crispy toasted dead right to your very door."

"Weird. Anything in it?"

Henry lifted the top of the box. "I'll be damned," he said. "Check it out."

A shiny metal flamethrower rested in the box, with a note attached.

_Me again. Look at what I found. Careful of flammables!_

_C._

"Would you like to do the honors?" he asked.

"Not in here. Let's find something outside to kill."

"I thought you'd say that," he smiled.

Sure enough, a couple of demon dogs blocked their path outside. Henry stood back and let Eileen fry them to a crisp. The smell of burning flesh reminded him unpleasantly of Richard, still writhing under his sword downstairs…but there was nothing to be done about that.

They found out that while it worked against corporeal beings, the most it would do against ghosts was to stop them in their tracks with surprised expressions on their undead faces…which would have been funny if they hadn't been running for their lives.

Still, it seemed to be a weapon that Eileen could handle without too much problem. And when she felt herself going into one of her fits, she would drop the flamethrower on the ground, and Henry would get out of the way and keep things under control until she was done.

* * *

The downside of the flamethrower was that it prevented Henry from helping out much. He couldn't walk forward and swing his axe from the side, or he'd get fried too. And when they ran into the fast-moving doubleheaded monsters again in the apartments, now joined by what Henry could only describe as buttheads, they found that the flamethrower just wasn't fast enough. 

"I could try the submachine gun again," she said after Henry had dispatched the immediate threats in 301.

"No, it's going to hurt you too much," he said. "Do what you can with the shotgun or rifle, and I'll hit 'em with the axe. We'll get by somehow."

It wasn't until they got to 204 that another option presented itself. As they entered the room, something gleamed at them from the other side. Eileen hobbled forward, but Henry's arm shot out and stopped her.

"Careful," he said softly. Instead, he moved into the kitchen, and she followed him. He cautiously leaned sideways toward the living room, looking down the hallway, then pulled his head back quickly.

"Damn. He's at the other end. Stay here."

Before she could react, Henry ran across the room. A shot rang out, but it missed him by inches.

"What the…"

"What is it?"

"You're not going to believe this," he said. He turned around. In his hands was…

"Is that…a rock drill?"

"Sure looks like it. Funny thing is, it's not that heavy," he said. "I think you could manage it if you're careful."

"How can a rock drill not be heavy?"

"Got me," he said, as he ran back into the kitchen. This time, the only sound was Walter's laugh echoing down the hallway.

"All yours, including the note."

_Like the chainsaw, this needs no refueling. Be warned…it's slow, but deadly._

_H._

Eileen picked up the nutrition drink on the counter and tossed it to Henry. He popped it open and downed it at once, with a grimace.

"You OK?" she asked.

"Tastes like crap. Still haven't gotten used to it," he said, wiping his mouth. "Let's go."

* * *

At first, Henry wasn't sure that they'd get much use out of the rock drill. It took forever to start up, and Eileen couldn't move while it was running. However, after a few tries, they worked out a strategy. Henry would bait the monster into running toward him, and then would sprint past Eileen as she stepped into the thing's path with the drill pointed forward. Wet and disgusting things would happen, and the monster would be down for the count. 

"I feel like such a chicken," he said after the dozenth time or so.

"Don't," she said. "This beats trying to axe them to death."

"It's just weird…but that's nothing new here."

But she was getting worse. Henry had to leave her in the front foyer of the building as he went to remove the chains binding Frank's door, and when he returned she was most definitely not all there any more. And when she finally left him after he found the little red box in Frank's apartment, he realized just how much she'd helped him with the monsters when he found himself out of ammo and out of options apart from running like hell. Which he did.

_God, I hope that nothing's happened to her…but where is she?

* * *

_

With a final cry, Henry lifted his arms and shoved the two-pronged spear into the huge body hanging over him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the black-tinted figure that was Walter writhe in pain on the floor.

As Henry readied his axe behind his head, he turned his gaze to the small figure tottering on the wooden platform, purple from bruises and blood. Eileen looked so small and alone, stripped of not only her consciousness but of her weaponry...

_Funny. Before a few hours ago, I'd never have imagined her holding a gun...now I can't imagine her without one._

_Guess it's up to me now._

Walter stood facing him. His mouth opened, and his darkness faded.

_He is as he once was..._

Henry gritted his teeth, and swung the axe. Walter grunted and doubled over. As Henry lifted the axe again, he was stopped dead in his motion.

Walter was smiling at him. _Smiling_ in that otherworldly way he had about him...

The long blond locks swung, and Walter turned. Before Henry could react, something connected with his side, and he was flung ten feet back onto the floor. Walter's laugh echoed through the chamber.

_Okay, Henry. Time for a new plan._

Which was a hard thing to come up with while running around avoiding revolver shots and pipe swings, he found. He was reduced to sneaking up behind Walter and taking potshots at him. If he was lucky, he'd get away without a bitchslap...but, as he'd found out a long time earlier, today wasn't his lucky day.

After the umpteenth time, Henry found himself flat on his back next to the wooden platform. Walter was several yards away, so he had a moment before he had to get back up and start running again. Eileen took a step down the stairs, on her way to the rotating blades, and stood next to him. He looked up at her one last time, to try to fix her face in his mind before either one of them met their fate.

His mouth fell open. She was facing straight forward, but her eyes met his. Before he could say anything, she winked. He heard her voice in his mind.

_Distract him._

That wouldn't be a problem.

Henry hauled himself to his feet and took off in a dead run toward the huge body at the other end of the room, weaving back and forth as Walter's bullets whizzed by him on either side. As he heard Walter come up behind him, he readied his axe again and stepped quickly to the side to avoid the latest shot, turning to attack.

What he saw behind Walter damn near killed him right then and there.

"What the..." he stuttered.

"HELL YEAH!"

He was just able to recover in time to sprint away, as Walter spun around, startled. He stumbled over some steps, and his back hit one of the shadowy red figures at the edge of the room. As he sat down hard, he saw Walter's expression change briefly to confusion and then sadness, just before the rocket hit his chest and he exploded in a cloud of red.

When the mist cleared, nothing was left but a pipe, a gun and a single shoe. Eileen stood at the base of the steps, rocket launcher on her shoulder, looking like the cat that just swallowed the canary.

Henry was too stunned to say anything.

"Lookie what I found," she said, lowering the huge weapon to the floor. "That was...great. Better than sex." She walked toward him.

Conscious thought returned to Henry and started working overtime.

_Well, what guy could measure up to THAT? In any way?_

"Eileen, where..."

"Where do you think I went after I left you in the apartment? What, you think I just walked out the door straight into Walter's loving arms?"

_Well, now that you mention it..._

"This was sitting below the stairs. Don't tell me you didn't look there on the way back."

_...oops._

"But...you were..."

"Yeah, I know," she said. "I was pretty out of it in the apartments. But the strange thing is that, as soon as that bell started tolling...I felt fine. I still have all of this," she said, indicating the writhing redness on her skin, "but I felt OK otherwise. Figured I'd play along with things. It wasn't until you put that last spear into that _thing_ there that I felt lousy again...but I sucked it up and pulled out this baby and here we are."

Henry wondered idly where she'd pulled it out _of_, but squashed that thought as soon as it had started.

_Let's just write it off as a Deus Ex Machina sort of thing._

"How do you feel now?"

"Fine. Best I've felt in hours. You?"

"Headache's gone."

Eileen sat down next to him. They contemplated the circular blades in the center of the room as they slowed and finally ground to a stop.

"Wow," she said finally.

"Yeah," Henry replied, lamely. "I think it's over."

"Yeah. What now?"

"No idea."

Walter's left shoe sat, lonely on the floor, soaked in red. Henry idly waited for it to wander over to him and...start kicking him or something.

_Crazy thoughts. That's OK._

He smiled at her. "You know, if you told me right now that all you need is a tub of Noxzema and a good night's sleep, I'd probably believe you."

Eileen laughed. "Now that you mention it, that _would_ help. This stings, you know."

"No, I didn't. Looks uncomfortable, though."

"I can't complain," she said. "You've had it a lot worse than I have. Thank you."

Henry stared at her.

"For what? You were the one with the heavy artillery."

She shrugged. "And you got us the hell out of all of this. Got me out of that hospital, got us through everything. Thanks."

Henry nodded. "And thank you. Now," he said, struggling to his feet, "want to see if we can find a way out of here?" He held out his hand.

She took the hand and let him pull her up. "Sounds good to me. I can't wait to get out of these damn heels. They're murder on the feet."

* * *

_...What?_

..That's different.

_You don't believe me again._

Nope.

_Why not?_

Look, weird things happened, I know that. Really, really weird things. But you're asking me to believe that somebody put a freaking _rocket launcher_ under the stairs on the first floor.

_Yes._

That's way too much for me to swallow.

_Why?_

It just is.

_You're trying to tell **me** that you know all of this better than I do?_

Well...no, but...it just doesn't fit. Way too Resident Evil. Not Silent Hill at all.

_Dammit. Guess I suck at this._

Heh.

_It was worth a try, anyway._


	3. Maggot Brain, part 1

**A/N: As mentioned in the blurb, things get somewhat nonexplicitly slashy in this part and the next. Thought you might like to know.**_  
_

* * *

_Let me tell you what really happened._

For real this time?

_For real. Honestly._

Riiiight...**  
**

**But here's what really happened.

* * *

**

It had been four days. Four days of headaches and nightmares. Four days of confusion, then boredom. Then serious boredom. Then mind-numbing, put-his-head-through-the-wall-if-he-could boredom of epic proportions.

Still, Henry couldn't bring himself to touch the books on his shelf for reasons he couldn't determine. He'd memorized every page of the latest issue of his car magazine that sat on his coffee table (and mentally kicked himself for not keeping the back issues in a box somewhere). He'd made up a detailed grocery list on the pad of paper on his kitchen island (as he was very much a bachelor, this list consisted of Hungry Man meals, canned pasta, BBQ chips, Froot Loops, soda and another bottle of wine). He'd washed all of his laundry, even…the last load of towels was sitting in the dryer, waiting for him for get up off of his duff and fold and put away on the neat stack of towels in the bathroom.

But the books by the window sat untouched. As did the soap scum in the bathroom sink, and the random crud in the corners of his apartment that he just couldn't bring himself to sweep up.

Then again, he'd felt like he was in a fishbowl for those four days. He couldn't get out through his door, he couldn't open his windows, and he sure as hell couldn't think straight. Anything more demanding than doing the connect-the-dots on his cereal box required more effort than it was worth. And he'd done that on the first day.

The noise of the phone ringing by his bedside after he'd woken up didn't help matters at all. He opened the door and shuffled down the hallway.

Day five and … damn. Everything looked the same.

As he approached his front door to see if anybody was out there, he saw red letters appear across it.

_Don't go out!_

_Walter_

"What the hell…"

_Who's Walter, and why does he want to keep me in here?_

His fingers traced the chains and locks that adorned the inside of his door like some mockery of Christmas garlands and ornaments. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to know the answer to his question...

Just then, he heard a small crash in the hallway, and his eye moved to the peephole. He was rewarded with the sight of his neighbor, Eileen, performing the riveting activity of picking up dropped groceries outside his door. Something about a party, huh…

Henry had never been big on parties. He didn't like the forced socialization. Seemed artificial to him. He always ended up standing in a corner, nursing a rum-and-Coke, waiting for his required attendance time to end so that he could leave without seeming rude. But by this point, he'd have danced on a tabletop with a lampshade on his head just to escape this crushing boredom.

Well…maybe not. But it would be nice to talk to somebody...even if it was just for Kung Pao chicken with an egg roll and pot stickers.

_Wait, what's this piece of paper under my door?_

He forgot all about Walter.

* * *

But he was forcibly reminded later on, as he wandered through the subway and then through the forest and then through the other places that the hole took him to. The name Walter kept recurring, as if it was some sort of subliminal mantra or something. 

That's what Andrew had called the little boy who had scared him so profoundly...Walter. Was that little kid the same Walter who'd left the message on his door? No, couldn't be...it didn't make sense. Even so...

The notes slipped under his door mentioned some sort of serial killer, or something like that. Walter Sullivan. Killed ten people years ago, then committed suicide. Seemed to have a thing for hearts and…inscriptions.

But what did this have to do with him? Walter Sullivan was dead, been dead for a while. So, somebody was playing a trick on him with the message on his door…and the notes that kept appearing under it…and the rest of it. Right. A trick. A very, very devious and complex one, but still a trick…

* * *

Henry's eyelids fluttered, and opened.

He was on the floor again. On his side, at least, sparing him the taste of damp, moldy concrete or carpet made spongy with blood.

No, this floor was neither cold nor hard. Linoleum. Above him, round lights hung from the ceiling, and a waist-high table draped with bloody sheeting loomed over him. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, still groggy.

A squishing sound came from across the room. A white curtain stretched across a corner, and shadows moved across it, illuminated from behind. Or one shadow, anyway. A man, with long hair. He was moving back and forth rhythmically, leaning forward on his hands over another body, and Henry started to lift himself to his feet.

_Whoa, man. I really shouldn't be seeing this..._

Oh, wait...no, that wasn't what he was doing. Only one body was moving on the other side of that curtain, and the hands were rummaging around inside...

_Oh God. I **really** shouldn't be seeing this...this is insane..._

The figure stopped moving suddenly, and turned. The curtain was shoved aside roughly.

_Shit. It's him. It's the man in the coat, from 207...the one who offered me that old doll..._

The dark blue coat was spattered with thick, glistening blood. His long blond hair hung lank around his face as he moved forward, hunched over, hands out in front of him. But Henry was staring at his eyes. They were a light ice color, indistinct under the shadow of his half-closed eyelids, and Henry didn't like the look in them at all...

Henry's feet nearly slid out from under him as he scrambled to his feet. He turned and fled toward the door, but slipped.

A pair of hands caught him under the armpits as he fell and hauled him back up. Those same hands pushed him against the wall by the door, face first. Henry's cheek was squashed against the cold wall, mouth mashed open. A foot nudged his apart. He was off-balance, leaning into the wall as if under arrest, held in place by a single hand on his back.

"Hello, Henry," came a voice from just above and behind him.

The man's voice was of moderate pitch, with a slight drawl. Silky smooth. The sort of voice that drew you in and made you want to...

_Want to what? Buy a used car or something?_

Henry was too preoccupied at the moment to think on it further.

"We need to stop meeting like this."

"That's your call," Henry mumbled through his cheek. "Not mine."

The man laughed gently. "Very good. Very good, Henry."

Then, the hand lifted from his back, and that laugh curled around his ears again.

"Don't let me keep you, Henry. You're a busy man."

All Henry could do for a moment was roll over against the wall and stare at the man in shock. Then, his brain remembered where he was, and he yanked open the door and fled the room.

Once safely on the other side, he leaned against the door to catch his breath. The bats sprawled on the floor would wait a moment if he stayed still. And he needed that moment more than he needed air right now.

_What the hell was that? And why didn't he just kill me?_

_What does he want from me?

* * *

_

The question wouldn't let him alone. It hovered just out of reach, eluding him like one of the needlenose bats. Others followed in its wake.

_He doesn't seem threatening when he talks to me. He should, but he doesn't. Why?_

_Is he the one dragging me through all of these insane places?_

_Is he really the one killing all of these people?_

By the time Henry collected Eileen from the hospital, he had a strong suspicion. And by the time they stepped through the door at the bottom of the spiral staircase to find themselves back in the cemetery by the orphanage, Henry was quite sure.

The questions that remained, though…one in particular was dogging him.

_Why didn't he kill us when he had the chance?_

He'd almost killed Eileen, but the little boy had stepped in at the last minute. So, he was actively trying to do her harm. But he'd had a much better opportunity to attack Henry in the hospital, before he'd woken. It would have taken only a single bullet…

The smile that followed him had been amused, not menacing, and the look in his eyes had been…

…_playful?_

Was he just a toy to him, then?

If so, then why were there all of these monsters attacking him at every turn?

_It doesn't make any sense._

He picked up the unlit torch from beside the flame, and held it to the flame for a moment before it sputtered to life. The forest was dark the last time he had been there, and seemed even darker now…more illumination would be a big help. Damn him for not having a flashlight or something, anyway.

Then, he heard the click of a familiar gun, and ran for the exit.

The door slammed behind him, and he ran forward. A well loomed darkly next to him. As he ducked for cover behind it, his eye caught something solid sitting just inside. He reached in and extracted…a wooden head. Like a doll's head, but life-size. It was charred and split, and gazed at him with sightless eyes.

Just then, he realized that Eileen was nowhere to be found.

_Dammit. She's too hurt to get through the door by herself. I have to go back for her._

The click sounded closer to his head, and he realized that going back wasn't an option at that moment.

"Stand up," the slow voice said. "And drop the torch." He did so. The muzzle of the revolver touched the center of his back.

_I'm a dead man…_

He was forced up against the edge of the well, which was tall enough to keep him from immediately falling in. He gripped it with all he had. However, a good push from above…

"Turn around."

Walter was standing close to him. He was a few inches taller than Henry, and leaned over him with a calm smile.

"Mr. Townshend."

The heavy-lidded eyes looked him up and down appraisingly. Henry squirmed internally, but stayed perfectly still. A piece of hair was poking him in the eye, but he dared not move either hand off of the edge of the well to move it.

"So nice of you to join me here. I appreciate your willingness to help."

"I'm not helping you," Henry said quietly.

"Why not, Henry? Don't you…like me?"

This wasn't what Henry had been expecting. Definitely not. Another evil laugh, a swing with his steel pipe or a shot from his revolver, but not this.

Any of those would have been preferable to this…personal interest.

_How insane** is **this guy?_

"Hmmm?" Walter said softly.

"Like you? You're a serial killer. You've murdered all of those other people. I saw some of them die. You've been trying to kill me and Eileen since this morning. Damn near succeeded more times than I can remember. Why the hell would I like you?"

"No, Henry," Walter said, leaning closer. His breath was sweet. "Nobody's trying to get you killed."

"You could have fooled me!"

Walter stepped back, unfazed. "I just want to show you…how things are, and how they should be. Soon, you will understand."

"I understand everything I need right now," Henry growled. "This isn't my nightmare, and I want out."

"Soon, very soon. The nightmare will cease, and Paradise will be here. Soon, Henry."

Henry decided that if this was bad, Walter's Paradise would have to be worse.

_So that's what I'm up against. Paradise. A madman's utopia. Not if I can do anything about it._

A large hand came up and brushed the offending strand of hair out of Henry's eye without touching his skin.

"Are we done here?" he heard himself asking.

Walter smiled. "For now." He took a couple of steps backward.

Henry stood up and brushed himself off.

"But you'd better keep moving, or you'll regret it. I've waited far too long."

Henry walked back to the well, and bent to pick up his torch. It lay cold on the ground. As he straightened up, he felt Walter close by… a slight breeze just behind him…

His head shot up. He was alone. He heard Eileen in the distance, crying for him. He felt dirty, somehow.

He took a deep breath and turned back to the door to the cemetery.

* * *

Walter intercepted him again as he hurried on his way down the southeast path. He heard that laugh again before he saw the blue coat, and dodged the bullets as best he could, running around behind him. 

Just as he hurried past, a needlenose bat stung him on the back of the head, and he flinched and cried out, momentarily stunned. He smelled the sweet breath and felt the warm hand on the front of his shirt collar before he could open his eyes.

_**Warm** hand? But he's a ghost, or something like it…he can't be human._

The voice whispered low in his ear. "Think about it, Henry…"

_Never._

And he was gone.

* * *

All the way down the next winding staircase, the questions kept coming to him. 

_What does Walter want with me? This isn't about me, or about Eileen…it's his own hell…what does he want?_

_Was he really serious about not wanting me dead? Or is that just missing a "yet" at the end?_

_Why did he attack Eileen? And why are all of these things trying to kill us?_

_And if he's Walter Sullivan…who's the little kid?_

"Henry…you're going too fast…"

He barely heard her as he stopped at the next door.

_Looks like I'm going to find out soon.

* * *

_

Soon, but he hadn't expected it quite _this_ soon. The heavy-lidded eyes were amused behind the muzzle of the gun pointed at his face.

"Better get moving, Henry," the low whisper came.

BANG! He felt the shot blow past his cheek. So he did. Out the door and down the spiral. The bats hummed around him, and he swung wildly just to clear them out of the way. Eileen limped along behind him as fast as she could, but still it wasn't fast enough.

He dropped Eileen off on the third floor, and hurried around, trying to find a way out of there before she got any worse. Finally, key in hand, he climbed the spiral on his way to retrieve her.

Walter caught him between the second and third floor, at the end of his gun.

"Why can't you just leave us alone?"

He knew full well that the question was rhetorical by this point…

Walter laughed again.

"You can't run forever," he said smoothly. "I'll always be there waiting for you."

_He makes it sound less like a threat and almost like a promise…_

_No. That's crazy._

Henry swung his axe hard. Walter groaned and staggered, just long enough for Henry to make his escape.

"Not if I can help it," he called back over his shoulder.

* * *

Walter was strangely absent from the building complex that they entered next. Henry was able to leave Eileen in an elevator, in which she was unlikely to be attacked, and ran around the complex freely, dodging as needed and killing when necessary. 

But as he shot and slashed his way through, he couldn't help but remember Walter's words.

_It's almost as if he wants us to get through this. As quickly as possible. Why? What's going to happen when…if…this all ends?_

_Is he going to kill me? Or Eileen? Or…what? Before or after the end?_

…_What's he got in store for us at the end, then?_

Every blow he struck, every volleyball or stuffed cat (_stuffed cat?_) he picked up brought him closer to that unknown destination.

Finally, he led Eileen into the Bar Southfield. She'd had to be by herself for a while (he still didn't see why she couldn't climb ladders with only one arm, but she insisted that it was impossible), and she was in pretty bad shape. As soon as the door closed behind them, she began to hit herself on the head with her nightstick.

"Eileen…Eileen, stop," Henry said. He reached out to grab her hand, but suddenly pain swept through his head like fire. He flinched and backed away.

…_just like a ghost. She's so far gone…_

She was mumbling something incoherent…but the attack stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and now she stood there looking around, dazed.

"What just happened?" she asked.

"You're not well. Let's get going."

* * *

As Henry swung again at the enormous golden wall-man, he thought 

_Yeah, Walter. Riiiight. You don't want us dead._

_Could have fooled me._

Eileen flailed ineffectively at it with her nightstick. The wall-man swiped at him with a red-palmed hand, and he flew through the air, landing heavily. He struggled up painfully from the ground.

_What the hell **do **__you want?

* * *

_

Something hurt…hurt his head…

Henry nearly fell out of bed. The phone was ringing. His head swam as he reached for the receiver. The voice on the other end spoke low.

"I'm always _watching_ you…"

He could almost smell that sweet scent again.

Henry dropped the receiver and stepped back hurriedly. The pain went away for a split second, but returned. He was well away from the phone…

He spun around. The picture of the Balkan Church that he'd taken in Silent Hill still hung on the wall, but the graceful taper of the church's spire had been replaced by a grinning face he'd grown to know all too well.

_Like the ghostly image on the Shroud of Turin._

The receiver still dangled. He heard the voice again.

"I'm _always_ watching you…"

Henry pulled a couple of candles from his pocket and hurriedly lit them. He set them on the floor by his nightstand and dresser. Backed up against his window, he watched them burn down. The receiver placed itself back on the hook, and the grin faded, replaced by the image of the old church.

Henry breathed a sigh of relief, and went to his front door. A single red sheet lay in the door crack. It was a list.

_No. 1…Ten heart…_

_No. 2…Ten…_

_No. 3…Ten hearts…_

As Henry scanned the list, he realized that it was a list of Walter's victims. Freshly updated, and apparently complete.

_No. 20…Mother Eileen Galvin_

_No. 21…Wisdom Henry Townshend_

A little too fresh for his liking. More than a little. He felt an odd relief.

_So he does mean to kill us. Still, there's hope…Eileen's still alive. This isn't over yet.

* * *

_

If Henry had thought that keeping an eye on Eileen before had been a pain, it was nothing compared to leading her through the maze of bars and holes that was South Ashfield Heights. She was clearly out of it more often than not, and he couldn't stay too close to her in case she had another of her fits and started hurting him. But if she fell too far behind, he'd lose her.

Walter, however, had no such problem. He took a couple of potshots at them as they hurried toward room 202, but Henry was able to dodge the shots and get through the door safely. He almost got hit in 204, but managed to get in and out without incident.

In 206, he had no such luck. He rushed through the door and found himself face to face with the man himself. The familiar laugh followed him down the hallway.

Henry ducked into the first open door he found, and searched for a way out. The room was a dead end, but there was a candle sitting between the bunks. He hurriedly pocketed it, and turned to leave.

Too late.

"Hello again."

Walter stood casually, one elbow on each bunk by his shoulders, his gun dangling loosely in his fingers. His dark blue coat took up all of the space between the bunks. Henry was trapped.

"I'm afraid that Miss Galvin won't be joining us," Walter continued, looking around the room with curiosity.

"You bastard. You didn't…"

"No. She's still alive. Not well, but still alive. But we're not here to talk about her."

"Oh really?"

"Oh no," Walter said with a smile. Kindly, this time. "This is about you, now."

"I know. Just get it over with."

"What?" Walter looked genuinely confused.

"You've got me cornered. I'm out of ammo, and you can shoot me faster than I can hit you. Just kill me and get it over with…but spare her."

Walter laughed, and moved closer. Henry shrank back against the wall.

"Is that what you think? That I'm going to kill you?"

"I'm number 21 of 21. The last sacrament, right? Therefore…"

"No."

"NO?"

"No."

Henry was flabbergasted.

"I'm not the last sacrament?"

"No, you are. But I'm not going to kill you."

Walter was quiet for a moment. His fingers stroked the barrel of his gun.

"I can't let that happen. Not yet. You're too valuable to me."

Henry decided that he really didn't like where this seemed to be going.

"Did you ever wonder why I brought you to see everything that was happening? Why I let you meet Cynthia and Jasper and Andrew and Richard and Eileen, get to know them, even a little bit, before I took their lives?"

He hadn't really thought about that much. He'd had other things on his mind.

"No. Staying alive was top priority."

"You were never in danger, not really. You didn't get anything you couldn't handle. You won't."

Henry didn't like the sound of that at all.

"I had to show you."

"Show me what?"

"Them. You had missed the others. I had to show you what they were about, and why they had to die. Each of them. It was vital that you see them as they were when alive. The four Atonements are the most important parts of the Signs…but for you and Miss Galvin."

Henry found himself saying, "What about the last Sign? That 'separate from the flesh' business? Even I understand what that means."

Walter smiled. "Of course you do. I wouldn't expect any less, my Receiver."

"I…am…NOT…your…Receiver."

Walter's face was now just inches from Henry's. His voice was just a whisper now.

"You are. You will see soon enough just what your tireless efforts have meant to Mother. Now you know all. Almost all."

The pieces fell together in his head and suddenly, Henry understood. The whole plan laid itself out before him like a map unfolding. The red diary pages…the notes…Joseph's last letter…and the events he'd witnessed that would have been unthinkable before today. As Walter had done his work, had killed again and again to bring his "atonements" to him, he'd been showing Henry everything as he went, so that Henry would see, if not understand.

He had indeed received the "wisdom" that Joseph had passed along to him on the red diary pages. Madness, more like. But he hadn't realized that Walter had meant him to see and feel as well as read. Through everything, that was the one question that he hadn't really asked, not in the right way…_why_ he was seeing all of this.

Henry thought back to the red notebook by his couch. It had appeared on the first day of his imprisonment, blood-red cover gleaming in the light of the table lamp. He had regarded it suspiciously for a day or so before opening it. It had been blank. Completely empty.

He'd started writing things in it, an account of what was happening to him. It was one of the few things that he found himself able to do within the confines of his headache. After the hole had opened in his bathroom, he'd written things down more frequently, describing everything that had happened since the last entry. It had become almost a compulsion. He didn't wonder whether anyone would ever read it…it was more for his own benefit. Writing things down made them seem more real, reassured him somehow that this wasn't all just in his head.

Henry knew that if he went back to his room right now and opened the little notebook, its pages would be filled with things that made sense to nobody but him. And he knew just as well that when he was dead, the pages would turn as red and bloody as the rest of the book, just like the notes that he had been finding under his door.

_I'm the last one, though. Nobody will have to read those pages, ever. Thank God. It ends with me. One way or another._

And now, Henry was faced with the realization that it wasn't going to end just yet. Walter still had a few tricks up his sleeve…

_God, I'm tired of his surprises._

"You see now."

Henry nodded. "You can't do this without me."

_He and I are the only two who know just how far this goes._

"No, I can't. This is as much about you as it is about me."

"You...need me that much for this?"

"Without your Wisdom...it is impossible."

_This has to be useful somehow...but I don't know how._

"I see."

"Then you will do this for me."

"_No._"

A rough hand came up, took firm hold of Henry's shirt collar and forced him further backwards into the wall. The muzzle of the gun slid off of one of the buttons of his shirt and moved slowly down his chest. He felt the cold metal trace down his breastbone, stopping right at the small hollow at the tip.

_That sweet smell again…_

"You will. You have already."

Henry was eye-to-eye with Walter's Adam's-apple. He briefly thought of reaching forward to bite at it, but he held back.

_Don't lose it._

"We're almost there, Henry."

"Where?" was all that Henry could manage.

"Paradise," Walter breathed. "You and me." The voice was lower now, just above his forehead. Henry could sense him smiling…

Something in the air shifted.

"How fortunate I am, to have found you so…to have found you."

The hand on his collar warmed the fine skin at the juncture of his collarbones. Every fiber of his being was focused on one thought.

_Live. Through. This._

Yet the scent of Walter's skin wafted up from the neck in front of him, and invaded his consciousness. Heat rose from the collar of the blue coat and warmed his nose and chin, so close by...

_When was the last time anyone touched me there?_

His mind, his damn rogue will, began to bend, seeking relief from the strain of the last five days, and he felt himself waver. It seemed so long since he'd been that close to anyone...

…someone...wanted him...needed him...

…he wanted...he _needed_...

_What the..._

_Stop it. NOW._

Henry turned his head away, willing the thought away with everything he had. The ceiling light in the little room blinded him. His eyes closed against the glare.

Something warm and soft pressed against his forehead. He felt hair brush across his face.

_...oh…_

_Oh God! OH GOD_

"GET OFF OF M -- "

A hand clamped down on his mouth, and Walter put a finger to his lips.

…_oh._

"Yes. Sooner or later. Mother wants it so."

Walter stepped aside, laughing softly. Henry pushed past him and ran down the corridor. He dashed through the hole in the last room, past the chair in the next apartment in which Richard had died, and down the apartment hallway. He flattened himself against the wall at the end, and listened.

_Quiet._

He buried his face in his hands, but he couldn't shut out the tumult in his head…

_Concentrate, Henry. You don't have the time to think about … to think now. _

A soft tap on his shoulder startled him. Eileen stood in front of him, looking very worried.

"Are you OK?" she asked softly.

Henry dropped his hands and put on his bravest smile. "Yeah. Go on ahead, see if there's anything in here. I'll be there in a minute."

She looked him up and down. "If you're sure."

He wasn't, but he nodded anyway.

"What happened back there?"

"I don't know, Eileen." Which was the truth.

She limped off, and he leaned his head back. He breathed deeply, and realized that he'd been hyperventilating.

The soft laughter echoed in his ears long after the sweet scent had faded away.


	4. Maggot Brain, part 2

"Hurry up. Get packed."

With those words, the hanging corpse before him disappeared.

_Time to go...this is the last one. Have to pull Eileen away from that sketchbook..._

_So tired..._

Henry turned to leave the room, but he tripped over his own feet and stumbled into the rusty grating of the little circular space. His face hit the cold metal with a _thwack_ and a rattle, and he clutched at it to keep from falling. But his knees would not cooperate, and he slid to the floor.

He pushed himself up and sat back against the grating, legs straight out in front of him.

_Just a moment. I need a moment to think._

Not-thinking had kept him from realizing Walter's true purpose until their last encounter in 206. Not-thinking had kept him running around, backtracking, taking far too long to figure out how to get out of the prison and the forest and the other places while getting attacked again and again and again...if he'd just stopped to think...

Henry would be damned if he was going to let not-thinking get him and Eileen killed.

_Time to acknowledge the elephant staring at me from the corner of the room. My room. The answer is there. It's got to be._

_Start at the beginning. What have I got that I can use? My axe here...the pistol, but I can't haul too much ammo...same for the revolver...and, nothing seems to hurt him anyway. Not for long. So, I can't kill him. _

_Can I...get to him somehow? He's got to have a weakness, something._

_It's all about his mother. He wants his mother back. I can't give that to him. I can't destroy my room or anything to stop him, either. He won't stop until he's got that back._

_Why does it mean so much to him? _

_He's been lonely all of his life. He wants his mother to love him...he thinks that that's going to help him, going to make everything OK. Mommy will love him, take care of him, heal all his pain. Doesn't matter that Mommy has sheet-rock walls, one-bedroom-one-bath and a fine view of the neighbors. He's so lonely that he'd do anything to get her love._

Henry felt a pang inside that he hadn't felt in a long time. The last time had been...

_Two days after I last saw Leslie. I was sitting in my dorm room, on my bed, looking at the phone. I wanted it to ring, but I was afraid of what might happen if it did. _

Then, he'd realized that it wasn't going to ring. Not ever.

_I felt relieved at the time..._

But now, he remembered the brief twisting inside that had gone as soon as it had come. It was the same feeling that he felt now. As if something was squeezing his heart like a sponge.

Henry knew that now he had no choice but to revisit that.

_Loneliness...I remember. I didn't know how much it could eat away at you until now. It's so easy to just bury and ignore and pretend that it doesn't matter._

_But look what it did to Walter. It made him into…whatever the hell he is now. And until a few days ago, I was happy in my little room by myself. I wanted people to leave me alone with my camera and my TV. But now..._

_Now, I would give anything, anything to be able to get out and talk to somebody. Anybody. Even given all that's been happening, just being able to talk to Eileen now and then has been..._

_I wonder if Walter feels that way too...maybe that's why he's keeping us around for now..._

_Walter..._

_He..._

Henry hesitated, but he knew that he had to go on.

_He's..._

He felt the lips on his forehead again, and the light electric jolt as well.

_Why did I react to him like that? I've never...gone for guys, never. It's just not been me. I've only ever been interested in women. Never even thought about that._

_But he smelled so good...and his hand was very warm...and he seemed definitely interested...very much so. It's been a long time since anybody treated me that way. _

Henry took a deep breath and plowed forward.

_I'm special to him. Doesn't matter how...well, it does, but that's secondary. He wants me, no matter how. I'm his Receiver. Ugh. OK, let's not think about **that** just now._

_But...all of this, everything I've seen...he's been showing it to me. Building me up. Giving me what he thinks I need. Like a play, put on in front of me. But the blood is real in this case, of course. And the actors are really dead._

_...but it's for me. All for me. When was the last time that that happened? That somebody went to all that trouble just for you?_

_Feeling sorry for yourself, Henry? Poor widdle lonely me?_

_No. It's my own damn fault. And if I get out of here, I need to do something about it. Not a big concern right now, since the "if" is pretty damn iffy-looking. But for now, I have his undivided attention. Which, God damn me, feels kinda good. Really good, in a way. Dangerously good._

_Am I really that desperate? Is he? Is he just reaching out for anything at all? Any sort of interaction, regardless of how it comes?_

_Wait a minute. How do I know that he really understands that? What he wants? He's desperate for contact and love...does he really understand the difference between a mother's love and..._

_He thinks I can give him what he needs. Because I can help him in one way, I can help in every way. He wants me to be everything for him. Receiver...companion...lover? All the same to him. Something he doesn't have. Something he never got from anyone._

_It's all because of love. He never learned the distinctions between the love of a mother, the love of a sister, the love of a ... lover. He's desperate for something he doesn't understand at all._

_Both of them...him and the little kid…they're both desperate._

_Both of them._

Then, Henry had an idea. A terrible, horrible, marvelous idea.

He hated himself for it. Hated that he had to think that way. Hated Walter for putting him in this situation. Hated what he'd found because of it. Hated what he'd have to do. Hated having no other options.

_Does he really know the difference?_

_I don't think he does._

_What I need is time…more than anything. And I think I know how I can buy some.

* * *

_

They stood facing each other by the pool of blood. Out of the corner of his eye, Henry saw Eileen tottering in her purple heels, in a daze.

_Thank God. At least she's not going to know what's going on._

"You're it," Walter said, his smile even more otherworldly than before. "The last of the twenty-one sacraments. The final sign … the Receiver of Wisdom."

"This is it, then," Henry said.

"Yes, Henry. This is where it ends. How it ends…that's up to you."

"Not really."

"No, not really," Walter admitted. "One way or another, you are going to be at my side in Mother. At last, my brother."

_His brother, huh? _

"What is up to you is whether you join me willingly, or whether I must bring you myself."

He moved closer. Henry backed away, but Walter was too fast for him; he took Henry's head in his hands and held it firmly. Henry found himself staring down at Walter's throat again.

"In here is the wisdom of the Sacraments. I am the Conjurer. You are my Receiver. We must complete the ritual. Together."

Walter bent over him, and Henry felt a light warm pressure on the top of his head.

"You and me. In the arms of Mother, forever."

One hand pulled Henry closer to him. The other hand stroked his cheek, and a thumb lifted his chin. The ice-blue-gray eyes held...love. All-encompassing, childlike, unconditional.

"Together?"

"Yes!" Walter smiled. "Together. In Mother."

Henry nodded, and dropped his eyes.

"How...does this work?"

Walter's smile was open, happy. He shook his head, still smiling.

"I don't know, Henry. It just does."

_I don't know, either. Never been down this road before._

But Walter didn't seem to mind. His happiness was contagious. Henry couldn't help but smile back.

_You know what, Walter? Neither do I._

_I want to let go...you do too. I can tell. It would be so easy._

…_Do it._

"What about you?"

The hand on his cheek stopped abruptly, and Walter stared at Henry for a moment.

"What do you mean?"

Henry stepped back. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

"I know why you're doing this. This isn't about you. This is for _him_. The other Walter."

"We're the same person."

"No, not completely. He's a little boy. You'll be a killer twenty-one times over."

"He was me, once. So long ago. I remember..."

"Not any more, though," Henry said slowly. "Not any more. Too much has happened."

Walter said nothing, and Henry continued.

"Once this is all done, he will have his Mother, right?"

Walter smiled broadly. "Yes. Forever."

"What will you have?"

"What?"

"You know what I mean. He will have his Mother, but what will you have?"

For once, Walter's smug mask slipped a little. He hesitated.

"He won't need you any longer. What happens to you then?"

"It…it doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does. We'll all be here forever…what will _you_ have after you've given him what he wants?"

Walter's mouth dropped open. He looked around as the question seemed to sink in. His lips opened and closed, but nothing came out.

Henry waited.

"I...I don't know," Walter finally said. He shook his head. For a moment, he seemed like the lost little boy that Henry had met in the cemetery by the orphanage, a lifetime ago. The boy for whom this man would kill over and over and give up his own soul.

"Nothing. You will have nothing, Walter."

"No. I will have his happiness. I will have made that happen. That's why I've done all of this."

"_He_ will have that. And if you're lucky, you'll get to see it. But _you_ won't have anything but the blood of twenty-one people on your hands and an eternal hell haunted by their spirits."

Walter stared at him, slack-jawed. Before he could react, Henry was close in front of him, grasping the taller man by the arms.

"What did they ever do to you, Walter? Cynthia...she died horribly, we both know that. Did she really deserve that? Richard was an asshole, yeah, but he didn't... And Eileen...remember? She gave you her doll. You told me."

Walter's eyes flickered over to her wobbling figure on the walkway.

"Yes, I remember. She was so kind to me, that one day in the subway..."

"And for that," Henry continued, "does she really deserve to haunt this place forever? Floating down the hallways, groaning, mindlessly suffering for eternity?"

Walter was silent.

"I saw Cynthia, Walter. In the subway. She…she was in pain. So much pain. Do you want that for Eileen? Really?"

"I…I didn't have a choice."

"Why should Eileen have to suffer that way? For that matter, why should I?"

"You?"

"Me. Your Receiver. Walter, if you kill me, I'm stuck here too, forever. You know that. I saw it, remember? I don't want that kind of hell."

"I have to." His jaw was set. "I have to give him his Mother back. There's no other way." His eyes stared off into the distance.

Henry placed a finger lightly on Walter's cheekbone and turned his head back to face him.

"Do you really think so?"

Walter said nothing, but there was doubt in those eyes...

"So what about you? Have you, _you_, gotten anything out of all of the killing and blood and pain yet? Have you found anything that you want for yourself?"

"...no."

Henry's finger traced along the jawline slowly, and the eyes grew unfocused.

"Nothing at all?"

The jaw tightened under his finger.

"I know. What you've had to give up for _him_. Your freedom, your soul, your life..."

"Everything."

"No. Maybe not."

The eyes focused, and narrowed.

"Get to the point."

_It's now or never, Henry._

"You have forever, Walter. He has forever." Henry took a deep breath. "I don't."

Walter's eyes flew open.

"They're all mindless spirits, you know. You know better than anyone. They don't think, don't feel..." His hand cupped the other man's jaw, and a single finger dragged along the cheek. "But I do. And you do too. I can tell."

Silence.

"I'm going to die, Walter. In six minutes, or in sixty years. I don't know. But I don't have forever. _We_ don't have forever."

Henry raised a hand to Walter's head, and guided it down to his. He turned slightly, and his hand brushed the long blond locks back as his lips moved to the ear beneath. He felt Walter tremble before him, and he shivered just a little.

_He's like a nervous teenager. So am I. He's right where I want him._

Henry felt a little rush, a small vein of sadism that he hadn't known he had. He stroked the soft, smooth hair absently, acutely conscious of how small Walter seemed to him.

_I understand now...why some are addicted to this kind of power._

_We're two very lonely people...see what that has brought us to. He's seeking something he doesn't even know exists, and I..._

_Just this once...just for a moment..._

He breathed in slowly, and heard Walter's own breath catch deep in his throat.

_Ah. There it is._

His lips parted, and he whispered into Walter's ear.

"He can wait. He can wait for us."

"I…"

"What's the rush? We have now."

Walter's shoulders dropped just a fraction, but Henry knew.

"Yes," came the response, from just above his own ear. Henry continued slowly stroking the long hair back over the ear in front of him. The hair was silky and smooth, like a woman's. "Her time will come."

"Of course. And when it does...the last Sacrament will complete the ritual. But not just yet."

_And maybe in the interim, I can come up with a way out of this mess… _

Henry's lips were millimeters from Walter's earlobe.

"Give us _now_, Walter. Please. For me."

_The things I have to say and do..._

_God…help me._

Walter's arm came around him, and then the other. He shook, and Henry heard the strangled sob.

"It's OK, it's OK," he said. "I'm here. I'm here for you."

Walter's embrace was comforting, which surprised him. Henry stroked the blond head on his shoulder and felt the agony coursing through the other man.

_What did they do to him...poor guy. Whoa…I can't believe I just thought that._

Just then…

"…Mom…Mom…" _Knock._

_Oh shit._

"…Mom…let me in…" The knocking was loud and insistent.

_SHIT!_

Walter jumped back as if burned by Henry's touch.

"Walter…what is it?" Henry asked slowly, his heart in his mouth.

"You…" The mask dropped back over his face, and once again he was the smug man in the coat. But…

_He's furious. That's it. I'm screwed._

The pale eyes met his, and asked a single question.

_How could you?_

Henry didn't want to know the answer to that.

"What about…"

Walter shook his head _no_.

"But…"

"No."

Henry shrugged. "It could have been…"

"Yes. It would have."

_Yep. Maybe. I don't know. Moot point now. What's gone is gone._

_Time for Plan B. Wish I had one._

Walter shook his head sadly. His breath was ragged, but his gaze was clear. He slowly extracted a long steel pipe from under his coat, and as Henry watched, his colors faded to dark grays, like in an old-time movie.

"Before I do this," he said, "I'd like to say that it's been a pleasure, Henry. I've never enjoyed working with anyone as much as I have with you. If things had been different…"

"If things had been different," Henry muttered, "I wouldn't be standing here thinking of the best way to smash your face in right now."

Walter nodded. "I don't blame you. Are you sure that you're not going to cooperate?"

"Not in any sense of the word."

"What a pity."

_This whole situation. In many ways._

"Still, it's all the same in the end. See you there soon."

Then, Henry took a deep breath and did the unthinkable. He smiled at Walter. A big, cheesy, toothy, shit-eating grin.

Walter stepped back, momentarily stunned. His eyes followed Henry's hand as it dipped into a jeans pocket and extracted a small red box.

"Walter, you didn't watch enough movies when you were a kid. I guess that prison of yours didn't have TV. If you had, there's one thing that you would have learned."

Henry opened the box. Inside lay a tiny piece of shriveled tissue.

Walter's face went white.

_God, I hate having to do this..._

"Never, ever, explain your evil plans to someone **before** you kill him. Or to the guy who lives in his place before him, either."

Before Walter could react, Henry closed the box, grasped it firmly in his hand, and took off in a dead sprint toward the enormous roaring figure that overhung the arena…

* * *

_And so, that's how it really ended. Killed the homicidal nutcase, got the girl **and** the guy, and made the world safe for humanity. All in a day's work for Henry Townshend._

_What?_

…You have GOT to be shitting me, Pyle.

_Man. Why do you have to say that?_

Because it's really obvious.

_What…you don't think I'm his type?_

I wouldn't even know how to answer that.

_Lots of the fanfic writers seem to. _

Yeah, I've noticed.

…

Waitaminute…I get it now. You're just tweaking them. And me.

_Ha ha._

Like I said before…asshole.

_Sorry. But given all the crap they put me through…_

It's understandable.

_It's not your fault. _

Well, some of it is. Mind if I put this up too?

_Go for it. As long as you promise not to torture me any more._

Sorry, can't do that.

_Well, it was worth a try..._


End file.
